Mistaken Identity
by WizardsGirl
Summary: It was Cody's third day as a Junior Deputy, and she was just? Really confused? Because she didn't understand what she was doing here? Trying to arrest a Cult Leader? She just... She just had a lot of questions.


**A/N:** What happened when you and someone you work with/know have similar last names.

This bullshit.

Enjoy!

**Mistaken Identity**

Junior Deputy Cody Revers was nervous. She'd barely stepped into the station before Sheriff Whitehorse himself, a man she hadn't gotten to work with yet, had called her into his office where the two most senior Deputies (Who she _also_ hadn't worked with yet) were waiting with a _Federal Marshal_. Her anxiety had choked her into silence, leaving her blank faced and still as they began talking about some _cult_ and how they were going to arrest its leader, and that they'd already heard 'good things' about her work?

Which?

She'd only been there for two days?

But she hadn't even been able to _say_ anything, too nervous and anxious and, and then they were in the _helicopter_ flying out to the middle of Hope County and she was watching a video with someone getting their _eyes gouged out in a __**church**_ and just? What? What even? She would have thought it was some unique form of hazing, but Lindsey, the only other Junior Deputy, hadn't mentioned a thing, and considering he'd taken her under his wing a bit, since he'd been with the department for three weeks already, she was more likely to believe that it _wasn't_ hazing.

Which meant it was real.

And then they were walking into armed, enemy territory and there were people with _automatic rifles_ glaring at them and the Marshal was being really gung-ho about it? And she just. She just didn't know what the hell was going on anymore but she was feeling _super uncomfortable_. And _really unsafe_ seeing as how they had grabbed her and ordered her into the helicopter without any of her gear besides her uniform and the leather gloves and coat she wore for her moped? Just?

"You'll be fine," Deputy Hudson told her gently as she blankly stared at the church they were going to enter; Cody wasn't sure if her terror was just on her face or if it was still blank, but whatever Hudson saw clearly wasn't something for concern because the older woman leaned up and got her shotgun ready as the Sheriff and Marshal pushed open the doors. And then they were walking forward, and there were more angry, armed people (which she vaguely, distantly noted wasn't really appropriate for a church but?). And there was a shirtless man covered in scars and tattoos and, well, Cody had been a bit of a cutter in high school, her anxiety and nervous energy leaving her too high-strung for most people and a razor blade had seemed like a good option at the time, but, the point was, she knew the kind of focus and shock that could happen if you cut too deep or in the wrong place, and to have _words_ carved into places like your chest or naval?

_Large_ words, carved _deep_?

She had her scars, all along the insides of her wrists and thighs. Varying in depth and vividness now, seven years since her last cut in sophomore year when she went too deep and bled through her sleeve and got ratted out by one of the gossipy little shits who thought they knew it all and had to stop or else be sent to a mental health institution 'for her own good'. She still bore those scars, but, compared to the preachers? They were like dried tear-tracks in the face of screaming hysterics.

Distantly, she noted the angry people leaving, purposefully bumping into the Sheriff and Marshal, but _they_ at least, seemed to note how much smaller and unthreatening she must appear, because they stepped around her with small glances as they left. Distantly, she wondered what Deputy Hudson was dealing with, with the sudden outflow of angry, bearded men and dirty women with guns. That, that didn't seem like something that should be handled without backup there? Like? Why hadn't they brought Hughs or Mathews or McRoy? She knew they all worked today, and they all had _so much more experience_ and she still didn't get _why she was here_ and-!

"Hell followed with him!" The Preacher declared harshly, and, oh, he was pointing at her, holding out his arms as, behind him, three people stood watching grimly.

"Rookie, cuff this sonofabitch," the Marshal ordered.

"God will not let you take me," the preacher informed Cody, with gratuitous eye-contact through yellow... Ray-Bans? Which he was wearing in dim lighting? At night?

"Cuff him!" the Marshal ordered again, voice harsh, and she finally blinked, breaking eye contact to stare at him blankly, then glance at the Sheriff, nerves once more screeching high as she twitched uncertainly.

"Wait a minute, Marshal," the Sheriff ordered grimly.

"I," she started, before swallowing weakly. "I, um, I can't?"

"What?!" The Marshal snarled. "Don't fuck with me, _Rookie_, I can have you fucking court-martialed! Now _arrest him_!" He snarled; Cody's shoulders lifted, curling instinctively as the Marshal glared at her furiously, body language aggressive and tense.

"I, I mean," she stuttered. "I, I _literally_ can't?"

"What do you mean, Rook?" The Sheriff asked; Cody darted a glance at him, before looking away, hands wringing the hem of her leather jacket nervously.

"I mean, um, you all sort of grabbed me as I was walking through the, uh, the department doors?" She managed to say weakly, gaze darting between the two authoritative men, to the preacher still calmly standing, to the trio behind him, and away again. "And, and I'm not even sure I'm on the clock, to be honest, but, but I hadn't even gotten to my locker, where my gear is? Because, because I haven't, um, been taken into the field yet, so, so McRoy said I wasn't to take it home with me so it's, um, still. There? At the station? I'm sorry," she added morosely, staring at the ground, tugging at her jacket anxiously.

"What the _fuck_ Whitehorse?!" the Marshal snarled. "You said she had experience!"

"So I was told," Whitehorse stated, face strained. "Hughs said she was doing well, and that he'd taken her out already." The, severely uncomfortable, young woman blinked and looked up.

"Hughs?" Cody asked, bewildered. "I don't work with Hughs. _McRoy_'s my handler. Hughs works with-" she paused, shoulders slumping. "Oh shit, you guys were thinking of _Rivers_," She groaned, lifting her hands and covering her face. "Junior Deputy _Rivers_ works with Hughs. I'm Junior Deputy _Revers._ Rivers has been with you guys for a few weeks now, and he's ex-military. Today's my _third day_," Cody informed the room miserably, closing her eyes behind her hands, pressing her palms firmly to her face. "This is such a clusterfuck," she breathed, voice muffled as she bowed her head, feeling the heat rise up her neck to turn her ears a, no doubt, _blaringly obvious_ red.

"You've gotta be fucking with me," the Marshal said, disbelieving, staring first at the Sheriff, then at Cody, who dropped her hands to stare back at him miserably. "Why the fuck wouldn't you SAY SOMETHING THEN?!" He snarled; Cody flinched back a little, shoulders hunching defensively in the way they used to when she was far younger and the one yelling was someone far more dangerous.

"I thought I was being hazed," she managed to choke out weakly, shuffling away from him and closer to the Sheriff, who was tiredly rubbing at his face. "Like I said, it's my third day? And Lindsey, that is, um, Junior Deputy Rivers? He, he's been kinda helping me out, since, y'know, I'm the same age as his kid sister? And, and he didn't say anything about any hazing, but, but he said some of the other Deputies have shit humor so, so I thought?" she trailed off, dropping her eyes again. "Sorry, Sheriff," she muttered, feeling the embarrassed, humiliated flush rise higher in her neck as, behind the patiently watching (totally judgmental) Preacher, the pretty man in the nice jacket was grinning at them all, and the woman in the dress was coving her smiling mouth, and the guy in military uniform was smirking at them and it was totally her fault.

"It's alright, Revers," the Sheriff sighed tiredly. "We'll discuss this back at the station."

"Damn straight we will," the Marshal spat, sneering at Cody as he stormed forward, aggressively yanking out some handcuffs and slapping them on the still extended wrists of the preacher. "This is fucking _ridiculous,_ Whitehorse," he growled, glaring, before shoving the cuffed preacher towards Cody aggressively. "You know how to _walk_, at least, don't you?" He spat at her as she staggered under the sudden body, barely managing to catch herself, and then only thanks to the preacher's quick help. "Get moving!" the Marshal barked, storming towards the door, the Sheriff taking a slow breath, shaking his head and walking after him with nothing more than a quick head bob towards Cody.

"You alright?" She asked the preacher awkwardly as she straightened up, hands hovering uncertainly; he offered her a mild, gentle smile, glasses slightly crooked.

"I am fine, my Child," he told her, voice soothing, and Cody just bobbed her head uncertainly. Tentatively, she reached up and straightened his glasses for him. "Thank you, Child," he told her; she nodded again, swallowed heavily.

"Do you, ah," she started, hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued. "Do you have anything sharp in your pockets that could poke either of us?" She finished, forcing her shoulders to straighten as she stepped back a bit so she could quickly pat at his jeans.

"I do not," he told her; she nodded, finding he didn't, and opened her mouth to speak again, only to flinch at the Marshals impatient snarl.

"What the hell is taking you so fucking long, Rookie?!"

"I'm _following proper procedure!_" she shouted back automatically, voice tight with anxiety as she glanced over at him. "I just finished patting him down like _you're supposed to_ and now I'm gonna read him his Miranda Rights since you didn't do that!" She risked a glance towards the door, struggling to keep from hunching over because she knew that _this_, at least, was what she was _supposed to do_ and she wasn't going to feel pressured from doing what she _could_.

"That's enough, Marshal," the Sheriff ordered, all but pushing the furious, angry man from the church. "Continue, Rook," he ordered her calmly. "Pick up the pace, though. Lotta angry folk outside," he warned; Cody swallowed nervously, and jerked her head in a nod, before taking a deep breath.

"You have the right to remain silent," she informed the Preacher steadily, stepping so that she was at his side and slightly behind him, gently pushing him towards the doors as she spoke. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and may have them present with you when you are being questioned. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained?"

"I do, my Child," the preacher informed her calmly just as they reached the doors.

"Let's get a move on," the Sheriff told her, voice tight as he eyed the gathering, steadily tensing crowd. Cody swallowed fearfully, feeling sweat bead across her brow as she nodded, and, suddenly, she found herself alone behind the _armed members_ of their group as they began to immediately move towards the waiting helicopter. Gently, she urged the preacher forward, mindful of the shouting, wailing crowd as desperate, furious eyes were suddenly glaring at her. Cody kept her eyes down, her hand on the preacher's shoulder, and blankly noted that he was barefoot.

Blankly, absently, she wondered if his feet were cold, walking through the mud, and if she shouldn't have asked if he wanted shoes or not.

Shouting, sudden and furious, from the Marshal preluded a sudden gunshot and even more shouting, and Cody cringed sharply, breath hitching even as the calls of the Sheriff urged her forward and, suddenly, they were in the Helicopter and she was being shoved into a seat by the furiously struggling Marshal as they were taking off.

"Sit the fuck down and stay out of the way!" He spat at her, teeth bared, and, hands shaking, Cody cringed away, head ducking as she weakly struggled with the seatbelt. Across from her, the preacher, also buckled in, was humming something gently, completely unfazed and watching her with gentle, solemn eyes. Cody struggled not to burst into panicked tears, eyes burning and throat clenching as she pressed herself back into the seat as her co-workers and the Marshal struggled and shouted as the helicopter was attacked. Wide-eyed, she watched in horror as someone climbed up the front window and literally _threw themselves into the rotor_.

There was...

There was _so much blood..._

Everything was jerking, the world spinning, people screaming, as the helicopter went down, the smell of blood and fire and gunpowder in the air. Cody was jerked back and forth harshly in her seat, head slamming back and forth, leaving her dazed as they went down.

Across from her, the shirtless preacher continued to softly sing, expression benevolent as they crashed, glasses straightened and catching moonlight, glowing gold in the dimness. Cody had time to stare, wide-eyed in terror and panting for breath, for a brief moment as the world around her spun. The preacher _smiled_, still gentle and patient and kind.

There was still blood on the windshield.

They hit the ground with a scream of tearing metal and a thunderous crash that rattled their very bones.

Cody blacked out.

...

Consciousness returned slowly, begrudgingly, with a pulsing ache of pain in her head and body as Cody slowly blinked. Distantly, fuzzily, she noted that she was upside-down, that Deputy Hudson and the Marshal were also upside down and still unconscious. There was fire, too, and a hanging headset nearby that was crying out for them. _Nancy_, she recognized blearily, hearing the kind, matronly dispatcher who had snuck her a few cookies since she'd joined the department. Weakly, Cody forced an arm up, feeling like she was moving through water, everything around her fuzzy and slow. Her jacket was ripped, the pale, scarred flesh underneath already mottling with bruises and smears of blood. Her fingertips brushed the headset clumsily, making it rock back and forth as she suddenly began hearing soft, low singing. Cody blinked, vision blurry as sweat or blood or smoke or tears, she didn't know which, made her eyes sting and burn. Her fingers curled around the headset-

And the preachers hand wrapped around her wrist, snapping into place like the Marshals cuffs had onto his own arms. He peered at her seriously from behind his yellow Ray-Bans, and Cody couldn't help but blink at him in confusion, because he wasn't hurt at all? Like, besides a small bruise and scrape, here and there? After surviving a _helicopter crash_?

Cody lost time just kind of... Staring, at him. At his bare chest and bare feet and yellow glasses which now had a teeny, tiny crack in them. She couldn't compute, has stopped. Just... He didn't seem _real_. _Human_.

What if...

What if God actually _was_ watching out for this man? And, and they had just tried to _arrest him_. For killing someone. But God was still on his side? Or, at least, protecting him?

...

Her head really hurt.

"No one is coming to save you," he breathed to her, gently, benevolently, after assuring Nancy that all was well, and Cody could only stare because, well, of _course_ no one was going to save her. They never had _before_, never _tried_, just, just punished her for hurting like she could _help it_ that she was as anxious and panicky and high-strung as she was.

Was she supposed to be surprised? Or, or did her mean that _God_ wasn't going to help her? Or something else?

She couldn't _think straight_ anymore.

Tugging at her wrist meekly, weakly, her scars rubbed against his firm, gentle fingers, and the preacher cast those Ray-Ban shielded eyes on them and Cody felt old, familiar, and defensive shame bubble up from her stomach. She waited for the condemnation, the pity, the mocking, the 'helpful suggestions' that sounded like ultimatums. The preacher said nothing, just stroked a thumb over her scars before letting out a low, quiet sigh and turning back to her. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, and, suddenly, Cody found herself being lowered from her upside-down position, belatedly realizing that the Preacher's other hand had lifted to her belt and nimbly, _somehow_, got it to unjam and release her into his arms.

Immediately, she gasped and whimpered in pain as her body _ached_, and the preacher shushed her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he cradled her like she weighed nothing and carried her out of the helicopter.

"Come, my Child," he murmured soothingly into her hair as trucks pulled up on the scene of the helicopter, worried calls of 'Father!' echoing out of the night. "We will take you home and tend to your wounds. You will be saved, my Child." He sighed lowly, and gently, tenderly, handed Cody off to one of the people nearby, who held her carefully, uncertainly, but firmly. She let her head loll so she could watch the preacher be lifted onto the hood of a truck, heard his words and felt the decree lash through the night like the crack of a whip and the snarl of hounds.

_Begin the Reaping_, she thought, staring helplessly as her co-workers were gathered, as the Marshal fled. And, as she watched, they were taken away, dragged by angry men and women to unknown fates and places, and then, suddenly, the preacher was back, his face once again in hers as he bent over her, hand lifting to cradle her. Instinctively, Cody cringed, waiting for the tender touch to turn harsh, for the anger of a spurned, disrespected leader to lash out at her.

But he only shushed her, pressing another kiss to her forehead, and smiled that genial, benevolent smile as the fire around them burned brighter, as the gunshots and screams in the distance began to grow in number, and that fire turned his glasses to gold, flickering lights, blinding her and locking her in place.

"Do not fear, my Child," he murmured, whispered, as the forms of the three who'd stood behind him reappeared at his back once more, looming out of the fiery darkness like omens. And suddenly, Cody felt like she was drowning as the preacher leaned close and breathed against her face.

"You have nothing more to fear, little lamb," whispered out like a sigh, crooning damnation against her skin as that gentle smile gazed down at her from the fiery, damning gaze of golden flames. "Your Family will take care of you."

And, as the world once more dimmed around her into the blank, darkness of unconsciousness, those golden-flamed eyes followed after her, and Cody had never felt as trapped as she did in that moment.

And she Prayed to a God who wasn't coming to save her that it was all a dream.

Just one, big, horrible dream.

(She knew better.)

**A/N:** Inspired by a memory of when I was in high school and I got slapped by this chick I'd never met before because her boyfriend was cheating on her with a girl who had my name, and she thought it was me, and that was the closest thing to a fight I'd ever been in before but, yet.

Review!


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